


Celebrations Can Wait

by zarabithia



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Post-Order 66
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: On the five year anniversary of the fall of the Republic, Ahsoka just wants to mourn in peace. Instead, she meets a Mad Genius who likes to race.





	Celebrations Can Wait

She doesn't indulge herself very frequently. Drinking to excess is never a good idea when you're Force Sensitive, and it's even less of a good idea when people are hunting down every last trace of the Jedi that exist. 

But today is a special day. Today marks the five year anniversary of the day that the Jedi Order ceased to exist. So on this day Ahsoka quits pretending to be a mechanic long enough to take a day to herself. The journey to the nearest cantina is longer than she remembers, and the white fog that arises out of nowhere completely blocks her vision to the point where she almost turns her speeder around. 

But the mysterious fog ends just as soon as it began, and Ahsoka reaches her destination without any further interruptions. 

Walking in, she doesn't notice anything terribly different. There are a greater number of humans here than normal and fewer Twi'leks than can reliably be depended upon in any cantina this far away from the Core Worlds. It's odd, but it's only something that Ahsoka notices because the past five years have made her paranoid out of necessity.

But a few upticks in humans isn't enough to deter her. She pulls her robes closer around her, using the action to briefly touch the lightsabers at her side to reassure herself, before she takes a seat. 

She plans on sitting as far away from the bar as possible and ordering a drink to mourn in peace. It's a good plan, even though the bar is crowded, because the day had stolen her tribe from her five years ago. The so-called "Empire Day" has made her alone out of necessity, and it seems appropriate to "celebrate" it by herself. 

The waitress who greets her has long, golden curls that make Ahsoka's heart clench. The smile that she gives Ahsoka doesn't help matters. But of course she's smiling, because it's _Empire Day._ For everyone who isn't Ahsoka (or Rex, but she cannot think of him today, either) ... today is a day of jubilation. 

For not the first time, Ahsoka thinks that she would gladly slice through the Emperor with her lighsabers if she could. 

"What'll you have?" the waitress asks. 

Ahsoka doesn't think about it too hard. "Tihaar," she says, because she'd been on Mandalore when Anakin and Obi-Wan had died. If she hadn't, maybe they'd still be alive. 

"Sorry, sugar. We don't have any of that." 

Ahsoka frowns. What kind of cantina doesn't have any Tihaar? "Alright. Corellian whiskey?" She asks. "Preferably Whryen's Reserve, if you've got it." 

The waitress shrugs, as if she's been telling people no all day. "No on both accounts." 

Ahsoka sighs and wonders how they stay in business. How can you be a shady cantina and not sell Corellian whiskey? "Alright. Just bring me the strongest of whatever you've got," she instructs. 

"Sure thing," the waitress says, and gives Ahsoka a wink that makes her fondly think of Padmé. But Ahsoka squishes that thought down deep, because dear, wonderful Padmé is another casualty of Empire Day.

At least, she squashes the feeling down until the waitress comes back, with a large glass of something green that seems to almost glow. Ahsoka examines it for only a moment before she takes a long drink. 

It burns, just the way it is supposed to; Ahsoka can feel it in the back of her throat and in the tips of her montrals. It's a promising start, she thinks.

That's when the strange man comes over and sits down next to her. 

"Hello, small horned one," he says loudly, and for a brief moment, Ahsoka is reminded of Hondo. This isn't Hondo, though; the intruder upon Ahsoka's private grief is human. 

Ahsoka studies him for a moment, looking for any traits that would make his world familiar to her. She's traveled a lot since leaving the order, but she doesn't recall any world that would definitely claim him. He's wearing only green pants and boots, whereas most of the patrons of the cantina cover both their chest and their legs. His hair is grey, though the roots look like they might have been red or brown, once; the band around his forehead does little to tame the way that the hair sticks straight up. Ahsoka thinks that the unruly hair probably adds as much to his height as her montrals do to hers. 

"Is there something I can help you with?" she asks. 

It's not particularly polite. The urge to fight is still there. It's always there, and she wonders if that is because she grew up in the middle of a war, or because she wasn't able to to fight when it really mattered. 

She's not a Jedi, anymore. She can lose her temper, whenever she wants, after all. But then there truly wouldn't be anything left of Obi-Wan and Anakin's lineage, would there? 

"It's not likely," he says. "They gave you a green drink? Terribly unfair, everyone can tell that's my color!" 

Ahsoka looks at her drink and then looks at his, some sort of fuzzy orange concoction. "If it makes you feel better, it's not at all what I asked for." 

"Yes. It does make me feel better. We should both be unhappy! It almost cancels each other out." 

"Oh, but why should I be unhappy? Today is Empire Day!" Lying has never been her strong suit, but she's had to do it more often than not these days. She swallows down the revulsion, reminds herself that she has to get used to it if she wants to survive, and forces her best fake smile.

"Hmm." The stranger looks at her for a moment. "Yes, to the Empire!" he says finally, before tipping his glass to his lips. He drinks and drinks, and Ahsoka chalks his odd behavior up to the fact that clearly, this is not the first drink of the day for him. 

She runs her fingers along the edge of her own glass. When the stranger throws his own glass at her, she catches it easily with her free hand.

"Very impressive," he says.

"Reflexes," she says, which is true enough; reflexes honed in war are hard to shed, as it turns out.

"Perhaps. But not the reflexes I wanted you to have. Impressive, but disappointing. A bender you are not. I suppose that's fair. You're a bit too grounded to be the type I wanted." 

"What's a bender?" Ahsoka asks. She hasn't ever heard of any such thing; she doesn't know if it's a species she's unfamiliar with or something else. 

"What's a bender!" The man scoffs and waves the waitress to indicate he'd want another drink. Ahsoka privately thinks that he doesn't deserve one after throwing the last glass at her. 

"No more throwing glasses," she warns. "If you want to do that, go somewhere else, so I can ... celebrate in peace." 

"Nobody celebrates in peace," he says. "That's not the way celebrations are done, small horned one. Hmm. Very somber. I'd say Southern Water Tribe. They are a serious lot, but very obsessed with blue. It would explain the horns." 

"May name is Ashla," Ahsoka says firmly. "The horns are because I'm a Togruta."

"I know nothing of Togrutas. So they do not exist to me," the man says.

"That's the biggest nonsense I've ever heard," Ahsoka tells him. "I'm a Togruta. We do exist, whether you've seen us before or not." 

The man grins at her, unexpectedly. "But stubborn, too. Are you sure you're not an earth bender? I could see not wanting to admit it; I am the best earth bender there's ever been and nobody likes being inferior." 

"What's a bender?" Ahsoka demands, her voice a little firmer this time. "Is it anything like a Jedi?" 

Perhaps it is foolish to be so open to this man. Ahsoka has no proof that he isn't with the Empire, and proof or the lack thereof are a matter of life and death these days. But she feels no darkness in him. 

Then, nobody ever felt any darkness around Palpatine either and he'd turned out to be responsible for the greatest betrayal the Jedi had ever known. 

"A Jedi?" The man appears to ponder this. "This place is full of people I do not know. Vulcans, Kryptonians, Saiyans, Martians, Jedi..." 

Ahsoka hasn't heard of any of those people, either. She frowns at the crowd of people at the bar and milling about. The galaxy is a big place, but their training in the planets had been one of the essential steps in their education. 

She doesn't know them, but looking at them with fresh eyes, she can _feel_ them. There's a profound sense of loss that is so strong; Ahsoka has assumed the pain and grief she's feeling is her own. But the room is so heavy with grief that it's almost difficult to breath for a moment.

Ahsoka takes a breath and lets her pain out into the Force before forcing her shields back into place. It's been a while since she's had to worry about shielding, but in this cantina among these other patrons who are grieving and hailing from places she's never heard of before, it's better to have her shields in tact. 

"I don't know them," she says finally to the man who is now ignoring her in favor of accepting another drink from their overly cheerful waitress. 

"None of them are benders. Very uninteresting," he tells her when his attention finally turns back to her. "Though... many are lost. I suppose their losses are interesting to them." 

"Losses?" Ahsoka asks innocently, because being connected to the Force is not something you share. 

The man snorts and looks like he could throw his glass at her again. "You are worse at lying than Aang was." 

Ahsoka sighs and takes a long drink of her green monstrosity. When she's done, there's still silence and she still hates losing a battle, so she says, "You spoke to all of them then? Know all of their personal histories?" 

"Of course not. I already told you they were uninteresting. Did you not hear me, small horned one?" 

"Then how could you possibly know..." Ahsoka trails off and takes a chance that she probably shouldn't (and one she will blame the alcohol for later). "You aren't going to start claiming you're connected to The Force, are you?" 

She tries to make it sound like she is scoffing. But decades of following something and believing in it wholeheartedly makes it difficult to even pretend to repudiate it. 

"Terrible liar." He sighs as if he is disappointed in her, and Ahsoka thinks of Obi-Wan's fond disapproval of his Padawan and grand-Padawan's shenanigans so strongly that she might have cried, had she not had company.

"Perhaps you are a liar," she tells him. 

"No, I am a Mad Genius!" He proclaims. "Aang told me so and today is a day we celebrate him! So you too must call me a Mad Genius." 

"What are you a genius at?" Ahsoka asks disbelievingly. "At making assumptions?" 

He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, "How do you feel about racing, small horned one?" 

Ahsoka has a lot of feelings about racing, and today is a day that she would normally indulge them. But she is not alone, so instead she says, "I learned a trick or two from a Mad Genius of my own." 

"Excellent! Then today, there shall be no mention of Empires or Fire Lords. Only Mad Geniuses and races." 

He's up out of the chair before she has time to formulate a response or ask what a Fire Lord is. "Well, are you coming or not, small horned one?" 

Later, she will blame the day and Anakin's former presence in her life for all the actions that follow his question. But for now, Ahsoka gets up and follows him out of the cantina.

"Celebrations" can wait, and so can Ahsoka's mourning. For now, there is a race to win.


End file.
